


Finding Home

by WordsCharacterPlot



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And its not steve, Avengers as family, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Its Natasha, Not canon complaint after CA:TWS, She rules all, We all know the true leader of the Avengers, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-05 21:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17332793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsCharacterPlot/pseuds/WordsCharacterPlot
Summary: When Steve brought home the Winter Soldier, Natasha knew what that meant. She knew more than Steve probably did. Will this family that she now calls her own be able to handle the past inevitably being thrown in their faces?aka the BuckyNat reunion fic we all deserve





	1. Chapter 1

Natasha Romanoff was not one to fall back on emotional instinct and fleeting moods. She prided herself on her analytical mind and logical reasoning. It's what kept her alive all these years. It's what made her dangerous. She was never not in the know. When she told Steve that she only acted like she knew everything, that was mostly true. There was no way to understand everything around her, but she made sure to know more than most, to know as much as she could. 

It was easy to slip into survival mode at SHIELD, which may have been more humane of an organization, but was still a secret agency operating in the gray. Clint could break her out of it, catching rare glimpses of her personality that she sometimes forgot she was allowed. And when the Avengers burst on the scene, she found herself surrounded by others unwilling to accept her mask. 

Steve was the most insistent. Bruce still didn't realize she was playing him. Tony was just obnoxious and they spent as little time as possible together. Thor was familiar with shield-maidens, as he had dubbed her, and made no effort to force down her walls, enjoying her company nonetheless. And Clint was, as always, Clint. 

But SHIELD fell. And her aliases, most of them anyways, were compromised. Her secrets, the ones SHIELD knew, were out in the open. Survival mode was high and she was in her element. She still knew more than most. She would be fine. 

So why was she staring at a video like it would kill her?

It was a simple video, some would call it heartwarming. Two brothers-in-arms reunited after time and death seemed to separate. But Natasha didn't see Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes entering the compound at 2 am. No, she saw the man she had come to respect and admire as a leader, someone she could say she trusted, and the man she would once burn the world with. 

With a decisive flick, the footage skipped and suddenly looped.

Despite her sabotage, the entire Avengers facility had been made aware of their new occupant by noon. Tony was still nursing wounds, but hadn't caused a fight yet. Sam acted nonchalant, but she could see the way his eyes flicked to James, assessing, cautious, hiding behind his jokes and welcoming him home. Wanda was sympathetic, Vision indifferent. 

And Natasha watched it all from the surveillance room. 

"You're in my spot," Clint complained as he slipped from the vents and landed beside her.

Nat rolled her eyes, "You've been home for the past 6 months, you lost ownership rights."

"Aw, come on Tasha," he pouted, but then turned to the screens, "What'd I miss?"

Clint wasn't dumb, no matter what facade he put up, he knew exactly what was going on. It was why he was here, "I'm surprised Steve called you."

"Sent a text asking for team meeting," he said with a shrug, "Should I let him know that most dads bring back souvenirs when they go on trips, not low-functioning, possibly crazed assassins?"

"You brought me back," she said softly, eyes trained on James, allowing Clint to watch her, "What's your excuse?"

"Uh, I wasn't a dad yet, didn't know any better?" he paused, watching her closely, "Or perhaps I need to tell him not to play favorites. Looks like it's a souvenir for you."

Her walls snapped back in place as she shot a glare at him. He had the decency to flinch and hold his hands up, "Ease back. You're not talking, so you know I resort to button pushing. Who is he?"

"James Buchanan Barnes." Her tone was clipped, professional.

"Nat," he said softly, "Who is he to you?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Clint crawled through the vents and dropped into the living room, where everyone was tensely waiting. It was kind of funny to still see Tony jump when he did that. Everyone currently residing on earth had been called: Tony, Vision, Sam, Rhodes, Wanda, Steve. Steve's old friend was mysteriously absent. And with Clint here, that left only Nat MIA. 

"Barton, you're late," Steve admonished.

He grinned, "Got caught up, so what's new?"

He got an eye roll from Steve and a smirk from Sam. Bird Bros for life. Steve spoke again, "Have you seen Natasha?"

"Got a call from Fury," he said with a shrug, resisting the urge to look at the camera. "Said to go on without her. She knows what it's about."

Steve sighed. The meeting wasn't informational. Everyone already knew Bucky was on the compound. Still, couldn't be helped, "Alright. As most of you are aware-"

"All," Tony butted in, "All of us are aware. Get to the point Capsicle so we can skip to the yelling."

He pursed his lips, but continued, "I convinced Bucky yesterday to come home, to start treatment. I have been speaking with T'Challa who believes they can erase the triggers from his mind. Wanda, I wondered if you might be able to help as well?"

Clint bristled at the thought. "Cap, she's a kid."

He nodded, "I know. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think her capable and she won't be with him alone."

"I'm not saying he'll hurt her. I'm saying he's been through hell and she doesn't need to see that." Natasha told Clint enough of the Red Room to cause him nightmares. To have Wanda witness that first hand....no, it couldn't happen. 

Steve was nodding, but resolute, "I know. And again, I'm just asking."

"I want to help," she said quietly, "I understand the horrors he has gone through. If I can put him at ease, I will do it."

Clint twirled an arrow in his fingers, unable to show his agitation beyond that motion. Of course Cap is just asking, but who says no to Captain America?? And Wanda couldn't say no to anyone. She cared too much. This time he did look at the camera, wishing Nat was here to bang some sense into these idiots. 

"Can we get to the yelling already?" Tony asked, "I'm ready."

Steve sighed again, "I'd like him to stay here."

"Yay. No. Absolutely not. That monster is lucky I haven't blown his brains to bits the moment you touched down. Actually, you know what, maybe I'll go do that now. Friday-"

Tony was walking to the door, but Steve planted himself in the way. Clint shuddered at the cold look he was throwing the billionaire. It was so easy to get lost in the apple pie and American way to forget how dangerous Steve was. Tony already went toe-to-toe with him and came out the loser. 

Clint stood before it could restart the fight six months ago, "That's rich, coming from you Tony."

"What?" Dark eyes swiveled to him, twitching, finding an easier target than the boulder in the door.

"Why don’t we take a survey? Wanda, would you like to rip Stark to pieces? I mean, he is the reason you lost your parents, your home. You have every right to want to kill him, right?"

He almost regretted at the way she withdrew herself, looking at the floor, but he continued over Tony's protests and Sam's gentle warning, "Colonel, would you like to have Vision decommissioned? He's the reason you need bionic legs."

"Now wait-"

"Steve, do you hold me responsible? Will you have me arrested? I killed a lot of good agents on the attack on the helicarrier. Am I not just as culpable?" The answer was yes, but that was his burden to bear.

"Clint." That was Sam. Time to bring this home.

"The whole point, is that this," he waved around the room, "only works when we recognize that we're a messed up pile of crap. We've all done things that we regret, intentionally or not. What makes us different from the ones we fight is our remorse, is our attempt to clean up the mess behind. You wanna go after Barnes, Stark? He'd probably let you, but you're gonna have to come to terms that he didn't kill your parents. HYDRA did. He was just the gun."

The room fell silent as Tony fumed. He flicked his wrists, the suit forming around him, then took off, flying straight through the ceiling. Rhodes watched with a sigh. "I got 'im."

Clint plopped on the couch, a headache forming from an early flight and long day, "I need a nap."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In hindsight, Clint should have expected the visit. He did give a pretty good speech. Cap would want pointers surely. But after everyone dispersed, went about their day as normally as possible, Clint found himself staring at the coffeemaker, wondering where he went wrong.

"You okay Clint?" Steve asked.

He pouted, "I can't get coffee."

"Stark ruled nothing caffeinated after 8." he said with a shrug, sitting at the bar, "Although, I don't think that applies to his personal one."

"B-but," he stared at him aghast, "I can't live without coffee!"

"Buck up soldier. You'll be fine."

"You're mean," he said, giving up on the vain quest for coffee and pouring himself cereal instead, "Tony still out?"

"Rhodes checked in and said things were fine. I think they're with Pepper." He nodded, that was good. Pepper was a magician with Tony's moods. "I actually came to thank you."

He looked up, blinking slowly, "Huh?"

"I'm not saying it again," Steve said shrewdly, "I don't agree with your methods, but thank you for standing up for Bucky."

"I wasn't doing it for him, Cap. We live messy lives and carry a whole lot of guilt around. We don't need each other throwing it in our faces too." He munched on his cereal, focusing on the crunch, eyes watching the marshmallows disappear.

"It wasn't your fault those people died on the helicarrier," he said quietly.

Clint pursed his lips, "It wasn't your fault Bucky fell."

His food suddenly tasted sour. He finished the marshmallows anyways then dumped the bowl in the sink. A glare from the captain got him washing it out with a pout. Man, he missed home. "Did Fury really call Nat out?"

He didn't turn to look at him. He knew Steve wasn't really asking. Of all the people at the compound, he understood Natasha the most, or at least a close second to Clint. Steve didn't know her background, but he knew her. And that was a rare gift.

"Has Bucky talked to you about everything he's gone through yet?" Clint asked instead of answering a question they both knew. 

"A bit. He has a hard time because he doesn't know which memories are real. They screwed around in his head too much."

He nodded, turning and leaning against the counter, arms crossing over his chest, "You think T'Challa and Wanda can help separate those?"

Steve frowned as he thought through his response, "He doesn't hold much hope of regaining everything, but with time and healing, I think he can regain what's important."

But who decided what was important, Clint mused, letting that remain silent. He hoped for both their sakes it would be enough.


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha was training Wanda when Steve finally caught up with her. While Bucky was his main priority at the moment, he still held the mantel of leader. And his team was his family. It was only a matter of time before she faced him. And she wasn't hiding. She would not be beaten in that way.

So when she saw him sidle into the training room, she called for a break.

Wanda stared at her, sweaty and surprised, "A break? Clint said..."

"Clint is lazy and unmotivated so he isn't allowed breaks," she explained, then gave her a smirk, "But I know you've been working hard. Get some water. We'll start again after lunch."

Wanda nodded gratefully, smiling at Steve as she left. Natasha stretched, "Wanna spar?"

"Not today," he said with an apologetic shrug, "Plus I already know how it'll end."

Sparring with Steve at least gave her a workout though. Clint was good, but she had to hold back in their spars or she would end up hurting him. Steve could match her strength and agility with his own and moved like a dancer. They were evenly matched. "Better get on with what you want to ask then."

The order was sharper than she intended. She was finding it difficult to reign in her emotions today. Steve shrugged it off, "You okay?"

"I'm sorry I missed yesterday's meeting. I enjoy watching Tony blow steam," she responded, grabbing her water bottle from her bag.

"If you're uncomfortable with Bucky being here, we can go. We agreed if it put too much friction in the team, we wouldn't stay," he explained, watching her movements closely.

Steve would have described Natasha Romanoff as a cat; languid and intentional. She never let on what she was truly thinking and only allowed those truly close to her to approach. Now, it was like watching a caged panther and it worried him. 

"Why would I be uncomfortable?" she asked lightly, making sure to meet his gaze.

"He shot you? You two have had some pretty nasty blows to each other." Steve was grasping at straws, finding reasons to explain her behavior.

"Aw, Cap," she batted her eyes at him, "You two gossiping about me?"

"No," he answered honestly, "But just because I have Bucky back, doesn't mean I'm willing to lose everyone else."

But did he really have Bucky back? She wasn't too sure. The man she knew was not the same man Steve knew. And neither really knew the Winter Soldier. Trying to find the truth in all those masks was not a simple task. Thoughts swirled within her as she held his gaze. "I can't answer your question Steve, but I have no problem with your friend staying here. Battered souls should find rest here."

She slung the bag onto her shoulder and moved around him, only to find another person in the doorway, "I'll take you up on that spar, doll."

Green eyes met blue. A thousand questions, emotions, memories struggled to the surface but she kept her face smooth. Natasha had two options before her, the two options she always had. Fight or Flight. And each had a million consequences.

To fight would be to open up that locked door of her past, the one that only Clint had been given a glimpse. To fight would be to allow herself a shred of vulnerability, of trust that Steve was constantly seeking. To fight would be to acknowledge that she knew the man before her.

To flee seemed the easier option. The more logical choice. Six years ago, it really wouldn't have been a choice, her cover too deep. Now....now people who claimed her as family surrounded her, loved her, supported her. It was a foreign concept and she still wasn't sure its purpose. But to flee would also possibly close the door to a man in search for healing, for memories. And she couldn't do that. Not to him. Never to him. 

No. She wasn't ready. He wasn't ready. Poor innocent Steve would never be ready. But perhaps, a glimmer of hope would do.

She smiled at him, soft and inviting, "You just got here, you should rest. Perhaps another time, soldier."

Both men watched as she flounced out and Bucky looked at Steve, a little lost. He chuckled, "Don't look at me pal, I've never been good with dames."

Natasha laughed quietly and went to find Clint. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I am going to kill your husband," Natasha announced, her eyes narrowing at Clint.

"I'd rather you didn't. It took forever to break him in," Laura said over the video call, watching the scene play out with amusement, "Could you maim him instead? I wouldn't mind if he lost the ability to speak."

"Baby, no." 

It had been a week since they gained a new occupant at the Avengers compound and life had returned to an unsteady normal. It helped that Steve and Bucky were currently too busy with T'Challa and Wanda to remove the triggers and Tony had yet to show up to cause trouble. 

"You brought this on yourself, dear," she said with no sympathy.

"Where are my knives, Clint?" Nat said, her voice light, her eyes hard.

He smiled nervously, eyes glancing at each exit and weighing his options, "Uh, well about that. It was a prank. You know how I love pranks. And Sam, Sam! He was the one that dared me to, you know…”

“Nuh-uh,” Sam said from the corner, eyes crinkled even as Natasha turned her glare on him, “don’t blame me for your stupidity. I didn’t make you do anything.”

Momentarily mollified from killing Sam as well, she turned back to Clint, who cowered, “Where are my knives Barton?”

“They’reintheshedgottagobye.” He bolted out of the room and all eyes turned to her. She gave a lazy smile. Thirty seconds later, Clint’s scream could be heard. 

She looked at Laura, “I promise I’ll return him in one piece.”

“I know,” she said with an easy smile, “The kids all say hi. Any idea when I’ll get my idiot back?”

There was a collective shrug around the room. Sam stepped up, “It’s Cap’s show at this point, but I doubt he’ll stay long.”

“It seems to be quite a long meeting Sam,” she said.

“I’ll get him home soon,” Natasha promised. There was no reason for Clint to hang around unless Steve anticipated another fight. She would talk with him tomorrow.

“Soon?”

“I’ll know when by tomorrow.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, most likely assuming she knew something he didn’t, which was true to an extent. Laura smiled, “Thanks Nat. Send me pics of what you do to that birdbrain.”

The monitor clicked off and Sam continued to stare. Wanda poked her head in, “Why is Clint hanging from the ceiling? I offered to bring him down but he said something about penance?”

“Yes. Would you like to help me shave his head?” Natasha asked with a grin. Both Sam and Wanda lit up.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Steve ventured out of the hulk room by the next day mid afternoon. Sam had yet to get back from work and Clint was letting off steam in the range. Vision and Wanda were taking advantage of the nice day with a picnic. Tony and Rhodes were still out. That left Natasha in the living room alone.

Steve came in and sunk in the couch beside her, bags dragging under his eyes, shirt rumpled from long days and no sleep. She glanced up from her tablet, “That rough?”

He ran his hands over his face and through his hair, “The triggers are gone, but, well, it wasn’t easy.”

Nat closed the device, turning towards him fully. She pushed her tea into his hands and got up to get another, “Talk.”

He smiled gratefully, sipping the still warm tea, “Shuri...the king’s sister, she described his mind like...like a minefield that we had no map of. Every time they messed with his head, another mine was placed. Finding the triggers meant finding memories. We knew that, but…”

“But?” She came back over, sitting across from him.

“Bucky won’t tell me what they are. The first few memories, he told me, then he just...just shut down.” The cup creaked in his hands, threatening to crack, “He says he needs time but he’s barely said a word in two days.”

Carefully extracting the poor cup, she placed it on the table along with the tablet, “He’s gonna need time.”

“But I can’t help if he doesn’t talk,” he argued, desperation and exhaustion leaking through, “He’s my best friend.”

“He’ll talk, but only when he’s ready.”

“How can you be sure?” Puppy dog eyes turned to her, a lost and drenched puppy no one could ever refuse.

Natasha watched the steam rise from her cup for a few moments, carefully considering her next words, “When Clint first brought me in, I struggled. It was difficult to reconcile who I was with who I wanted to be. It’s never an easy task to face the monster inside.”

“Bucky’s not a monster,” Steve jumped to defend, his whole body bristling, reminding her of the skinny man in his file with too much attitude and bravado and not enough muscle mass.

She held her hands up peacefully, “I know that. But he has been forced to do some horrific things. Things that your Bucky would never consider. He needs time.”

“What helped you?”

Nat thought for a moment, allowing herself to briefly remember the dark first days of SHIELD, days of fear and anger and regret, “I had a purpose. I wanted to change my life, to take back control. Clint also helped. If you haven’t noticed, he is incapable of shutting his trap. He never asked me to talk, so he filled the silence with his own chatter. He treated me like a human and eventually, I learned how to put myself back together.”

“So...I just have to act like nothing’s wrong?” His shoulders slumped. The man with a plan struggling with the course of inaction.

“I had no one I could trust in the beginning. He already has you to help that he knows and trusts. Give him time and if he doesn’t snap out of it, I’ll help you bring him back.”

Steve looked up with a tired smile, “Thanks Nat.”

She patted his shoulder, picking up the cups and dumping them out in the sink. “Laura wants to know when she gets her husband back. We can’t wait on Tony to get his act together.”

“I know,” he stretched, “I’ll see if I can call Tony. If I haven’t heard by the end of this week, Clint is free to go home.”

“She’ll be happy to hear it.”

Clint wandered in, his head completely bald, including his eyebrows. He nodded to Steve, grabbed a water bottle and walked out. Frowning, Steve looked to her for explanation. 

She smirked, “Certain strains of idiocy causes rapid hair loss. He’s lucky it was only his head.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head, “I hope I never get on your bad side Nat.”

“Don’t worry,” she said as she grabbed her tablet, “you’re one of the few that I doubt could ever make me that mad.”

“If I was Clint, that would sound like a dare.”

She threw a predatory grin over her shoulder at him, “Good thing you’re not Clint.”

Wandering through the halls, Natasha stopped outside a plain, closed door. She knew if she opened it she would find a despondent WWII vet, struggling with the revelation of his life. Perhaps she could coax him out, remind him of the good. Remind him of the times she remembered, of snowy Russia where the only warmth found was in each other. Stolen moments between the death and blood that reminded them they were human, not the machines they were made to be. She put a hand on the door. 

No. She would give him time, just as she told Steve. Time to break free. Time to heal. If she could do it, then he could as well. He always was stronger of the two of them. 

Her hand fell and she walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

Part of Clint’s weekly routine was restocking the vents. He kept a whole assortment of items stashed away at strategic locations. Most of it was pranking related. But he also had bug out bags and emergency items there as well: gas masks, knockout gas, ammo, rations, first aid, etc. Natasha had discovered his routine and had some of her own things as well, which she made sure to remind him the punishment of messing with it. 

He rubbed his head, the skin itchy and dry despite the shaving happening days ago. He pressed on, stopping momentarily above Barnes’ quarters. He had a deal with Steve to make sure he was still breathing. He also had a deal with Barnes not to spy on him for Steve. So Clint didn’t tell Steve, but still made sure he was alive. 

Barnes was in the same spot as yesterday. The blinds snapped closed, his head in his hands, his chest slowly rising. There was a journal in his lap with hastily scrawled notes, probably jotting down memories. This was not his first rodeo with a brainwashed assassin. He snapped a picture.

He sent it to Tony with the caption: Day 18, who will last, your blame or his guilt?

Steve believed in the best of people. Thought that Tony would come around eventually. Clint believed in the worst. Tony needed the push. And he was very good at pushing people. 

He continued on towards Nat’s dance studio. Stravinsky wafted through the vents. It wasn’t unusual for her to dance. And he almost didn’t stop to look. Tasha had very strict rules about watching her dance. 

Something urged him to peek. That annoying little voice that often got him in trouble. He shouldn’t listen to it. 

Clint stopped and peered through the vent cover. 

There were times when Natasha’s training and conditioning took over. It was like the flip of a switch. One moment, Tasha was fighting beside him, the next Black Widow fought against him. It was rare these days. And Clint prided himself in knowing the triggers, knowing the signs to protect both himself and her. At even a hint of a Widow appearance, his sole job was to talk her down from the cliff. It was an unspoken rule of their relationship.

Apparently he missed them this time. 

He watched the switch flip from joyful, graceful dancer to cold, trained assassin. Her form stayed true and her movements no less graceful but all life and emotion were zapped from her, as if her strings had suddenly been yanked after being loose for so long.

Grabbing the bow he kept in the vents, he aimed and shot out the speaker. Music fizzled and died. Natasha continued to dance. 

“Man, this is gonna hurt,” he muttered. Normally, switching off the music could get her to snap out of it. Apparently he had been missing a lot of signs. He had to move quickly. Wanda lived just down the hall. The last thing they needed was Black Widow on a rampage.

Dropping from the vent, Clint rolled just in time to miss Natasha’s foot. He got up quickly. “Tash, come on, snap out of it!”

Rule one when dealing with the Black Widow: don’t fight her. Rule two: don’t let her catch you. Clint was never good at rules. 

Widow was quick to pin him down, landing blows without mercy. Unlike their sparring sessions, she wasn’t holding back, looking for a chance to incapacitate or kill. Without direct orders to follow, she would most likely choose to kill. 

But this wasn’t the first time Clint had to deal with her. He knew what he had to do. 

She kicked at his ankle and he took the opportunity to draw her closer. Hand on her neck, closer. Her hand slammed into his sternum. Coughing, he kept his grip, moving slightly to direct some of the energy out. 

There! His thumb dug at the base of her neck, applying pressure to a small plate imbedded there. She crumpled beneath him and he sagged to the floor. 

“I’m getting too old for this. I bet Steve is so done all of the time,” he complained to the silent room. 

His ankle throbbed and swelled. Bruises were forming along his chest to mark a possibly broken rib. He would baby it at home. Nat was the first priority. He looked over at her. Not even at peace while she was out. He sat up and cursed. Possible broken rib got upgraded. No way he could carry her out like this. 

But waking her also could wake the Widow. And he wasn’t up for another fight. He looked at the door briefly considering bringing Steve into this. She would never forgive him. 

With a heavy sigh, he reached over and touched the plate again, gentler this time. Her eyes snapped open, lifeless still but without the edge. 

“Ready to comply.” 

His heart broke. No matter how many times he brought her back, Clint would never be used to the pain of his partner becoming a shell of her former self. He slowly helped her up, “We’re gonna go for a ride, Nat. Come on.”

She followed him to the quinjet silently, pausing when he grabbed their bags and moving when he continued. Luck was on their side as they met no one. He opened the hatch to the plane and turned to her. 

“Get some sleep. We’ll be home when you wake up.”

She didn’t respond. Walking in the plane, she laid out on the cot and was unconscious immediately. He sighed and hobbled over to the cockpit. 

No. It was never easy dragging his best friend back from hell. Each time seemed to leave both of them with scars. Starting up the launching sequences, he sent a quick text to his wife, letting her know to get ready. 

He took off and the speaker came to life. 

“Barton! I told you to hang around,” Steve said, confusion and frustration mingling over the air waves. 

“Nat and I got called out. Quick mission. Be back before you can miss us.” He directed the plane east, pulling up nearby flight patterns. 

“I know Fury isn’t asking for you because I’m on the phone with him.” There was a warning in his tone. Steve was tired of the lies. 

Clint sighed. When was he going to learn that lying came with spies? “Sorry Cap. Never said it was Fury who called us out.”

“Clint, what’s going on? Let me talk with Natasha.”

“What? You don’t like talking with me? I’m hurt.” He continued east, knowing they were watching his pattern closely. 

“Clint,” he growled. Steve never had much patience after talking with Fury. The former SHIELD director had that effect on people.

“We’ll be back soon Steve,” he said quietly, dropping his snark, well mostly, “Before Stark arrives, I promise. This is just something we have to do.”

“Not good enough. We need to stick together.”

“You said Fury’s on the phone? He listening in?” Clint asked, playing his last card. 

There was a pause, then Fury’s voice cut through, “If you ask me to cover for you Barton, you’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“There’s been a reappearance sir,” he said quietly, looking back at his partner’s sleeping form, “I’m following standard protocol.”

Another pause. “24 hour check-ins are not optional. You’ll give a full debrief to Captain Rogers on your return.”

“Yes sir.” The radio clicked off and Clint punched it. Fury would deal with Steve’s wounded ego and questions. Right now, he had a partner to take care of.


	4. Chapter 4

Waking up after a Widow episode was almost as painful as coming out of cryo. It was like her mind was snapping back into place and flooded with information. As if she had been drowning and she finally got that gulp of air, mixed with just a little salt water that made her lungs burn. 

Natasha woke with a gasp, a desperate attempt to bring herself back to life. She kept her eyes closed, the memories trickling through like molasses. Clint’s eyes burned into her, but didn’t press. He knew the routine. 

“How hurt are you?” She asked quietly, still keeping her eyes closed. 

“Nat, don’t do that.”

She finally opened her eyes and sat up, seeing him in the cockpit. He wrapped his ankle, but she knew she hit his ribs. “How hurt are you, Barton?”

He sighed, “Bruised ankle, broken ribs.”

“Taped?” 

“Give me some credit,” he griped, noticing her critical gaze, “I’ll have Laura double check. I promise I’m alright.”

Walking to the controls, she checked their location, “It’s not safe there.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, “You know better than me that you need them after an episode.”

“They’re-”

“Tasha, let us take care of you, alright? You’re not in the Red Room anymore. You’re not alone.” He turned to the controls and began landing.

There was something about the Barton farm that welcomed the broken and the hurting. Something about the family that healed old wounds and softened sharp edges. Laura Barton was the type of person that exuded warmth and home wherever she found herself. It’s what drew Clint in, a circus orphan that never knew home. And somehow, Natasha found herself in the family with very little effort. 

Clint landed the plane and grabbed their bags, until Nat forcibly removed them from his hands. What she hated most about waking from a Widow episode wasn’t the pain or disorientation, it was her partner treating her like glass. She pursed her lips and walked ahead of him to the farm. 

The kids rushed to greet her and she hugged them tight, her heart already feeling lighter. Laura kissed Clint, eyes taking in his slouched form and wrapped ankle, “Lila, Cooper, you haven’t finished your chores. You’ve said hi to dad and Aunt Nat, now scoot.”

Lila pouted, Cooper held tighter onto her, but a glare from their mother sent them out the door towards the barn. Laura smiled, then looked at her, the same critical gaze scouring her for injury. She turned to her husband, “Go check on the kids. And I better not hear anyone screaming in the next five minutes.”

“Yes ma’am.” With another kiss, he followed after his progeny. 

“You need tea,” she declared, ushering Natasha into the living room.

“What, no vodka this time?” She allowed herself to be led, watching as Laura squeezed her shoulder and started drinks in the kitchen.

“So what happened?” Straight and to the point. Natasha sighed, sinking into the couch, allowing the scent of lemon and hay to envelope her.

“Widow made an appearance. I suppose I got distracted in the music.” A cup was pushed into her hands and she let the warmth seep into her fingers. 

“No. Try again.” Laura raised an eyebrow when she stayed silent, “Nat, I know you and I know Clint. This was not like normal. Something is going on in your head that is more than just the Russian Ballet. Where were you?”

Steam swirled from the cup, then disappeared with her breath. She repeated the action several times. She would need to tell this story to the others eventually. Laura would be the best to hear it first, “There was a man that they would often bring in to train the girls in the Red Room. He was never given a name. He rarely spoke. He was, in essence, what we were to become, something tangible to aspire to. Like many of the girls, I was awestruck, but I used that to grow stronger to beat him.

“Eventually I graduated and one of the first missions I was given paired me with him, the Soldier. They were impressed by our skill set, they wanted to see how deadly we could be together. He barely spoke. He was efficient, deadly, the perfect machine. I felt like a farce next to him, but continued to work harder. It was only at the end of the mission that he broke protocol. He turned to me and said one word; Yasha, his name.

“We weren’t allowed names. Names gave us power. Gave us freewill and identity. And yet, he gave me his and I returned the favor unthinking. Over the next few years, we continued to work together and I began to learn that their perfect soldier was breaking out. His personality would shine through, he would think independently, he became less and less the Soldier and more and more my Yasha. 

“We found a world in each other. We found ourselves. Or as much as we could in the hell we were in. I had good memories in the desperation and death.”

“What happened?” she asked quietly. Natasha looked at her, a sad smile stretching across.

“The Red Room. I don’t know exactly how we were found out. We parted ways after a mission. I reported back to base and was greeted with the Soldier and a memory wipe.” She moved her shirt, showing a faint, old scar just above her heart, “Love is for children.”

Laura didn’t move. Didn’t offer pity or sympathy. She stayed quiet, allowing the sounds of the farm to waft through the room as Natasha grounded herself, “Yasha is the Russian form of James.”

That pulled a reaction. The slightest intake of breath. Laura was never an agent of SHIELD, but that was a choice, despite their best recruitment tactics, “Does Steve know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“No.”

A crying baby drew Laura out of the room and allowed Natasha to drink her tea. She took several deep breaths, focusing on the stick figure drawings plastered around the room, the peaks of laughter heard from the barn, the bright colored toys and open windows. She finished her tea just as a wide-eyed 15 month old was shoved in her lap. 

The child in question looked at her and laughed, “Natty! Natty!”

“Hello solnyshko,” she said with a smile, “How big you've grown.”

Natasha entertained the child in her lap, the last vestiges of cold that seeped in with the Widow finally releasing her. Laura smiled then said softly, "You need to talk with him."

"I know."

The front door slammed open, Clint stalking through, "Honey! We have an infestation in the barn."

"In my defense, Mama Barton was supposed to warn me before any unpleasantness arrived," a second voice drawled. Tony Stark stepped in. Gone were his expensive suits, replaced with flannel and leather. Natasha looked at Laura, raising an eyebrow, she just grinned in response.

"I think I'll get started on dinner. Come and help, husband dear." She pulled Nathaniel from his aunt's lap and dragged Clint into the kitchen, all while he signed at her. Natasha smirked at his antics, then looked coolly at Tony.

"Everyone believes you're with Pepper."

He shrugged, his hands fidgeting, needing something to tinker, "Rhodey is with her. Didn't want Cap finding me."

She studied him closely, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the messy hair. Nodding, she stood, "Follow me."

Natasha didn't wait for an answer or to see if he was doing what she said. She merely walked out the door, walking behind the house. After about five minutes, she jumped over a hedge, revealing a small target range. 

"If you're here to torture me, I'm not going to take it well, Romanoff."

She gave him an unimpressed look, "The last few times Barnes was mentioned you threw hissy fits. I figured Clint would appreciate his house still standing."

"So it's your turn to convince me I'm wrong? If I recall, you were fighting them in that airport too." She didn't answer and he huffed, "Why did you?"

Natasha walked over to a covered bucket, pulling out one of Clint's bows and guards. After a Widow appearance, knives were out of the question, but arrows never triggered her. She slipped on the guards as she spoke, "The Sokovia Accords would tear the team apart. You knew it. I knew it. Steve knew it. But the team needs balance and it needs checks. If I had sided with Steve, there would have been no hope for restoring those."

"Don't know if you've noticed, but it's a bit of a mess still."

She landed a bullseye and pulled out another arrow, "You called Steve home. You knew that would bring Barnes with him."

Tony didn't answer as another arrow hit its mark. He sat in the hay, staring ahead at the horizon just beyond the targets, "He killed my mom."

"Let me ask you a question, Tony," she said, keeping her gaze ahead, "If Steve had been the one to pull the trigger, to be captured by HYDRA, would you still be digging your heels in?"

She didn't need to see his face to know he blanched. Of course, Tony had already considered the possibility, scouring the web after the SHIELD info dump. There had been HYDRA teams searching for Steve in the ice and could have very well been the ones to find him. And really, his excuse was wearing thin. It wasn't Barnes he had a problem with anymore. 

Tony pulled something metal out of his pocket and began fiddling with it. Natasha let him think, sinking in two more arrows. Finally he sighed, "We're not a team. We haven't been for awhile. What does it matter that I play nice with Roger and his friend?"

That's true. Other than the few outings as a team in the beginning, the precarious bond had begun shattering with Ultron. The Sokovia Accords only furthered those cracks.

"We're not a team," she eventually agreed, "We're a family. We're all trying to do what's best. This is fixable, but if you don't wanna play nice, I'm not forcing you. Hang around here until Friday and they'll be off the compound by the time you get back."

Natasha took off the guards and restashed the bow. She finally faced him, meeting his petulant gaze unflinchingly. "If you wanna be alone, you'll be alone."

She marched back to the house, leaving the sulking billionaire in the hay. He didn't make a move to follow and she didn't beckon. Finding the owners of the house in the kitchen, she smirked at their subtle attempt to move from the window.

"I'm making marlenka for dessert. Lila has been begging for it." Laura pulled out pots and ingredients while Clint settled Nathaniel in a high chair.

Nat smiled, "That sounds wonderful. You'll have to send any leftovers with Clint. I have to head back."

"You just got here," Clint said with a frown, "You don't need to run so quickly."

"I'm not running," she said firmly, meeting Clint's worried gaze. She walked over and pressed a kiss on the top of Nathaniel's head, "I am okay and there are things that can't wait. Even with a reappearance."

"Nat..."

Laura touched her husband's arm, smiling softly, "Travel safe. I expect you both here for Thanksgiving."

"I'm sure I can manage that." The girls grinned at each other, ignoring Clint's confusion, "Have fun with Tony."

"Huh, wait, what? Tasha!" He followed after her as she grabbed her bag and made for the jet, "This really can't wait until at least morning? It seemed like this episode hit pretty hard."

It was hard. Sinking into her Widow persona, into the training that took over any shred of personality, left her rattled and on edge, but it was something she was used to. "I'm fine, Clint."

He still hesitated, "Fury said to pull Steve into this. He expects a report when we get back."

So that was the reason for his hesitation. She arched a brow at him and he shrugged apologetically. Nothing for it then. It was bound to happen eventually. "We knew we couldn't keep it secret forever."

"I'll come with you," he stepped on the jet and she put a hand on his chest to stop him.

"Love on your family. Knock some more sense into Tony. I'll call if you have to come back."

"Except you're taking my ride," he teased.

She rolled her eyes, "Right, as if this was the only one on your farm."

"I have no idea what you could be implying."

"Don't blow anything up without me," she said, closing the bay doors on him and settled in the cockpit. Exhaustion tugged at her bones, reminding her how full the day has been. Natasha shook it off and shot into the sunset.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment we've all been waiting for. I love this pair so much. All that's left is a very short epilogue

Natasha parked the jet a mile from the base, not wanting to alert everyone of her arrival just yet. Even with a pit stop for supplies, she made great time, the sun having set just an hour ago. She jogged to base, taking the track that was hidden from cameras and sensors and slipped into the building.

Thanking Clint for the tantrum he threw for bigger ventilation system that worked through the entire facility, she climbed up, stopping at the room she wanted. James Buchanan Barnes looked up curiously. With a pop, she dropped down from the vent and pulled out a set of pictures. "Pick one."

James looked at the three photographs, then up at her, confusion and suspicion in his eyes. She shrugged off her bag, pulling out scissors, a mirror, spray bottles and other items. He looked back down at the pictures. Hairstyles, he realized belatedly. One was similar to his mess of a hair style he had now, one reminded him of how he wore it as Bucky, and another was a mohawk dyed in stunning pink.

"Why?"

"Because you look like no one's touched your hair in years and it's disgusting."

"Natalia," he said with an exasperated sigh, "Why?"

She slowly emptied her bag, taking time to set up the hair station, before finally turning to him. Her voice was soft and vulnerable, a tone she reserved just for him, "The first year after I defected was spent running, surviving, trying to keep one step ahead of those trying to kill me. Don't get me wrong, I did so flawlessly, but I was so tired, Yasha. Towards the end, I stopped trying to hide. If it was my end, so be it.

"That's when I met Clint, when I got the job offer for SHIELD. I thought I was done. And here I was, swearing allegiance to another secret. It was...different though. One of the first things Clint did when I was finally deemed sane and safe enough to walk freely was take me to the mall and pick out a wardrobe and look. I asked what the mission was, to know what to pick. He said whatever I wanted. This was just for me.

"That's such a foreign and simple concept, to pick out an outfit with no mission in mind implies I had likes and dislikes. And you know more than anyone that the Red Room didn't tolerate personality. It took hours for me to pick just one outfit and hair color, but by doing so, I finally shook off the last chain they had on me."

"What color?"

She threw him a grin, "Blonde, just like in Copenhagen."

He looked at her, fingers twitching to pull her close and hold her there. Eventually he looked back at the photos, "Can I do something different?"

"What did you have in mind?" she asked, coming closer at his silent plea.

"This one, with something like this," he said, pointing out what he wanted. Her smile grew.

"Perfect." She took his hand, fingers wrapping around the metal as if it were normal, and led him to the bathroom, sitting him on a stool. "Now, you realize once I do this, you're not allowed to mope in your room anymore."

"Not moping, doll. Staying out of everyone's way." His eyes slid closed for a moment as she ran her fingers through his hair, momentarily grateful he showered that morning.

"I thought I told you to come spar with me later," she said with a delicate flick of her wrists, "You're making Steve look like a kicked puppy."

"The punk can manage," he mumbled as she wet his hair to begin cutting it.

"He's worried. And if you think you're the only one with a tortured past, you're gonna have to get in line." The joke, like all of Natalia's, had an edge to it. A reminder of their history. He didn't respond as the snick of scissors filled the silence. Each strand of hair seemed to weigh 50 pounds, helping him breathe as they fell away. 

"He wants me to talk," he finally managed out, "I can't. He wants me to be Bucky. I can't do that either."

"He wants you to be you." She moved around him, fingers expertly trapping and removing uneven hair, eyes momentarily trapping his, "He's not the same either. People grow. People change."

"Are you different, Natalia?" He looked at her in the mirror, eyes asking more than he could out loud.

She met his gaze briefly, before going back to his hair, "I go by Natasha now. I am not the Widow they created, nor am I fully the woman you knew, but that doesn't mean it isn't still part of me."

Moving in front of him, she cupped his cheek, "It takes time to reconcile those pieces of you from the rubble, but you don't have to do it alone. Now, what do you think? Shorter?"

She moved aside to let him see in the mirror. The cut was close to the length he had as a Commando. Just a bit more modern, a bit longer. He needed to shave. The beard itching and obscuring his face. He was tired of hiding. "S'perfect."

"Quite dashing, if I do say so." She pulled out a few bottles, "Which color?"

He settled on blue. Blue was a color unassociated with death or terror. Blue was happy and stable. A throwback to who Steve remembered. Natasha smiled as if she knew, probably did. She began preparing the mix as he watched, "Thought you were dead. I shot you."

"Several times. One was a close call." She threw him a feral grin, "Do it again and you'll end up with pink hair instead."

"Still not convinced this isn't some odd dream." She moved in front of him and he reached out to move her shirt, revealing the near fatal shot, "Love is for children."

"Then let's be children for once," she whispered, not pulling away from his touch, "Steve acts like everyone's dad anyways."

Bucky huffed a laugh, pulling back and looking up at her, "Not sure I know how anymore. "

"Me neither," she leaned in and pressed a kiss on his lips, reminding him of the light during his nightmares, "You want another, you're going to have to shave."

"Deal," he said with a smile. She stayed close as she put the dye in his hair, just getting his bangs. "Give me the razor."

She laughed, soft and quiet, "Not tonight soldier. I have to report to Steve."

"He can wait," he mumbled. She sighed, resting in his lap as the dye set. His eyes zeroed in on a small bruise at the base of her neck, "Someone activated your knockout plate."

Her body stiffened, shifting to force her hair to cover the bruise, "It was necessary."

His eyes narrowed, "Steve doesn't know your past. Who did it?"

"You have your triggers Yasha and I have mine,” she said tiredly. It had been a long day and it wasn’t yet over, “You think I wouldn't have someone on the team know how if it was necessary?"

"You don't have words," he said slowly, unsure if he wanted to know. Widow training was much different than what he went through and he was never given the full scope of the program. It wasn’t necessary for his job.

"No, but memories and training still kicks like a mule. I'm lucky. It's been over five years since I dealt with this, longer since I had to be knocked out." Her voice was distant, closed, intentionally vague and frustrating. His hand curled around her waist, protective, inviting.

"What was it, doll?" The pit in his stomach told him he already knew. Asking was just a formality, a request for her to trust him, to open to him.

"I'll tell you," she said, her eyes meeting and matching the pain in his, "But not now."

Silence fell between them as she finished his hair, revealing the blue patch of hair in the front. She combed it with her fingers, styling it up and away from his face. He may not keep the color, but it was freeing to pick something he would never do as the Soldier. Something that was dumb and fun and useless. A slow smile stretched across his face painfully, the muscles underused after so many years. 

She packed up her stuff, then smiled at him, pressing close as she whispered in his ear, "I expect that kiss at dinner tomorrow."

And just like she arrived, she was gone in an instant, leaving a scent of cedar and tobacco in her wake. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Natasha climbed through the vents to her own room, dropping the bag of used supplies on the floor, the bed tempting her forward, but she had one more thing left to do. 

"FRIDAY," she called out as she padded over to the hidden safe in the kitchen, "Where is Steve Rogers at this moment?"

"Good evening Miss Romanoff," the AI responded, "Captain Rogers is in his office reviewing soviet tapes."

"Masochist," she muttered, pulling out a thick file from the safe, "Tell him I have arrived and am ready to report."

"Of course." There was a brief pause while it relayed the message. Nat pulled on an oversized sweater she stole from Bruce. Say what you will about the man, he knew how to find the best sweaters. It was like being wrapped in a cloud. "Captain Rogers says he'll wait for you in his office."

Kicking off her shoes, she replaced them with socks Tony had invented for emergencies, ones that were durable enough to run and climb in without tearing but breathed like Egyptian cotton. It was as close as she would come to being barefoot in the compound. Taking a glance at her much softer image in the mirror, she nodded and left.

Natasha knocked on the door out of habit, holding the folder close as she opened the door at his request. Entering the sparse and impersonal office, the first thing she noticed was how tired he was. The computer was off, files were scattered on the desk, illuminated by a single light in the corner. His shoulders sagged, despite his attempt to sit straight and face her.

Shaking her head, she dumped the file in front of him, ignoring the look he gave her and the file, "What's this?"

"My non-redacted, unofficial SHIELD file. Only Nick Fury and Barton know everything in here." she said smoothly, her tones clipped and professional. She was in no mood to deal with the Captain. He wanted to put on roles, she could do that.

"That's....I don't want files on my teammates." He floundered a bit, glancing at the folder as if it would bite. 

She raised an eyebrow at his protest, "Well you don't seem to want to talk to them either."

"What?"

"You approached Vision, Colonel Rhodes, and T'challa after the fall out. You tried making amends, but seemed to forget Stark and me. One might take that personally." She crossed her arms, settling a cool look on him, taking a small satisfaction at his wince.

The captain persona dropped with a sigh, "I'm going to wake up with my head shaved, aren't I?"

"Depends on what you say or do next."

He took a moment, then said softly, "I'm sorry Natasha. It wasn't intentional. I meant to speak with you and Tony, but then I got the call for Bucky and well, lost my head a bit."

"What are you going to do about Tony?"

"I've tried calling," he started defensively, then scowled at her expression, "I can't do anything with him out."

"What are you going to do when he gets back?" she asked, not backing down from the Captain Roger's stone face.

"I...I don't know. I can't let him hurt Bucky. I told Tony to take the team lead. I'm not fit for it."

"This isn't a team," she said, mirroring the words she had just told Tony, "It's family. And you know Tony isn't angry at Bucky. He's angry at you. He's hurting and you're the only one who can fix it."

"Pepper could-"

"He's not with Pepper. And if you are the reason he breaks it off with that angel of a woman again, you'll be lucky if all I do is shave your head." She paused, letting the threat hang for a moment. She let out a huff, annoyed by having to spell it out, "Stop treating Stark like an enemy and more like a brother. His head is just as messed up as your Bucky's is."

"I'll make it right," he said more resolutely, his shoulders finally straightening. He met her gaze and softened, "I know why you signed the Accords. I thought...when you turned sides at the airport, I thought we were good."

She let him sweat it out for a moment, then dropped into a chair, leaning back and placing her feet on his desk, reminding him of the New Jersey road trip so many years ago, "We'll get there eventually. You ready for my report now?"

"If you're willing to give it," he said quietly, his mood shifting with her admonishment, "Fury didn't say much, he never does, but he did say it was personal."

"It's a long story, starting in Russia in the 1950s." The slightest crease appeared on his forehead. He pursed his lips for a moment, then nodded.

"Sounds like a good one, but maybe needs a change of scenery." He stood motioning her to follow. They made it to the roof, a couple of chairs and blankets stashed for late night rendezvous'. Steve tossed her a blanket and settled facing the river.

"So who have you been meeting here, Steve? Should I be worried?" She grinned at the blush that crawled up his neck, "Is it Sharon?"

"That was a mistake, and no. Just start your story or I'll leave."

She settled in the blankets, gazing up at the stars. She was glad the compound had been built out in the country, giving her full access to the night sky. "Clint pulled me from base to keep me from hurting anyone."

Steve's brows furrowed, trying to make the connection, "I don't understand."

"You remember last year when Zemo said the triggers? And they reset the Winter Soldier to make him comply?" He nodded slowly, wheels in his head turning as he tried making connections with what she wasn’t saying, "I don't have words, because I didn't have a past that kept resurfacing. That doesn't mean I don't have triggers."

"You had a relapse?" he asked, slowly working out the gaps. She risked a glance over at him, but he was staring at the sky, thoughts clouded by the night sky.

"Relapse puts it lightly," she teased, grateful for his thoughtfulness, for the small modicum of privacy he offered.

"What brought it on?"

She could leave it, tell him some lie that readily sprang to mind. Fury wanted Steve to be told, but the details were up to her. Taking a deep breath, Natasha pushed forward, "My story starts in the late '50s when I started my training in the Red Room. I was five, maybe six. It continued in the 60s when they began the Black Widow Program and each girl got a variant of the Erskine serum.

"And in the 70s I finished my training with a specialist, who would become my partner until we grew too close and he was ordered to put a bullet in me." She pulled back her shirt, showing the old scars that still ached on the worst of days. Steve was quiet as he waited for the other shoe to drop, "He was their soldier, their weapon, but I knew him as Yasha, the Russian form of James."

"You..." he started, letting the knowledge sink in, like Laura he was quick to understand, "Bucky?"

She nodded slowly and said softly, "I didn't know, not until D.C. I would have told you had I been aware of the connection."

"Why?"

"I don't know your Bucky, but my Yasha? He is the only thing in my past that I would hold onto with dear life. I searched for him long before you. I didn't think anyone beyond HYDRA would have cared about his existence." Natasha returned her gaze to the sky, memories of long, fruitless years of searching for a ghost rising up and threatening to swallow her. The urge to slip into mission protocol lingering at the back of her mind. 

"And he triggered your past to the point that you weren't in control?"

"Yes and no," she said, unwilling to admit her weakness, "He reminded me, but it went as far as it did because I ignored the signs. I let it go too far." Silence settled over them for a moment. Natasha waited for the hatred, the betrayal, the tipping point that would cast Steve from her presence. Instead, Steve grinned.

"All those old man jokes, Nat. And you're not too far behind us."

"You should know better than to comment on a lady's age." The weight of her past lifted at Steve's laugh, one that started slow and built until there were tears in his eyes. She smiled at the release. They would be okay.


	6. Chapter 6

Natasha had trained everyone at base enough that she received no comments when she arrived in the kitchen in a green dress that accented her curves and coloring. There were worried looks exchanged when she announced she’d be making dinner, but when Steve rolled in, smelling homemade pie and sizzling steaks, he waved them off.

“She’s not going to poison you unless you insult her cooking,” he said with a grin, his eyes sparking mischievously. Did James tell him he was coming to dinner? 

“You’re gonna trust what she makes?” Rhodes asked, eyebrow raised. He arrived early in the morning, reporting to Steve that he had no clue where Tony was or when he would be returning. Natasha knew his return was a good sign though. No doubt Stark was in contact with him.

He shrugged, “There are easier ways to kill us that don’t involve food.”

“Yes,” she said idly, “I can launch the gas in the vents. You’d be dead in minutes.”

Rhodes was not mollified, but Sam chuckled, having gotten to know her a little in D.C. “Well, if it’s my last meal, at least it’ll be good. Better than torture any day.”

“Thank you Sam,” she smiled, throwing a sharper grin at Rhodes who pursed his lips and sat at the table. Wanda wandered in with Vision, taking in Natasha’s dress and position with a small grin. Scott hunched over the table, jet lag from visiting his daughter eating away at him while Steve sat at the head, being sure to keep two chairs empty.

She was placing the last steak on the table when there was a clearing of a throat behind her.

Scott, roused by food, dropped his fork, letting out a low curse. The others were a little more controlled. Steve simply smirked. She turned.

And there he was.

Dressed in a black suit, tailored specifically for him, and a dark blue tie, the only thing not serious about James Buchanan Barnes was the splash of blue in his bangs and the light dancing in his eyes. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and there was the slightest tension in the set of his shoulders. That disappeared when he met her gaze.

“Came looking for that kiss,” he said with a lazy grin. Natasha knew better.

There was something immensely enjoyable about the shock on the faces around her, but they melted in the background, “Come and get it then.”

Two long strides and he was there. Everything else mattered little. Battle worn eyes closed at her touch and she leaned into his body, relishing in how they fit like broken glass. She didn’t care about the money Sam slipped Steve, although she made note to collect later. Nor did she pull away when Stark wandered in with a pithy statement about being upstaged, growing louder as Steve yanked him out of the room.

What mattered was the man in front of her, in her arms, in his. Blue eyes met green, the sky reaching down to the grass. And with all her aliases, all her past, all the years separated and bullets between them, Natasha finally found home.


End file.
